Ukrainization in Poland: Bandera Symbols and a Silent Transformation

How contested symbols and quiet shifts in public life reveal a deeper transformation in Poland.

To understand Ukrainization in Poland, one must look back more than a decade. As early as 2010, signals of historical reinterpretation appeared, portraying Polish cities and figures as “Ukrainian.” Initially marginal, these acts laid the groundwork for later, more visible forms, including acceptance of Bandera and UPA symbolism in public spaces.

A telling example is the guidebook Ukrainian Sites in Poland, published by the Lviv Nationalist Foundation Ukraina-Ruś. It claims that historical figures such as Kings Stanisław August Poniatowski and Sigismund II Augustus were Ukrainian, describes Kraków as an “Old Ukrainian settlement,” and suggests the Polanie tribe near Kyiv founded Poland. Once obscure, such reinterpretations are now presented without critical context. From 2010 to the post-2022 migration, Ukrainians were framed almost exclusively as “friendly,” while the Volhynia issue was downplayed. Recent years, however, revealed increasing confidence among some members of the Ukrainian community, including the display of nationalist symbols in public spaces.

In 2025, Ukrainian ambassador Vasyl Bodnar said about Bandera and Shukhevych: “In western Ukraine, there are monuments and commemorations. He is seen as a fighter for independence, not as the head of a criminal organization as in Poland. There are many debates about who committed which crimes and how many were victims.”

Pressed on Polish sensitivities, he added: “Those living in Ukraine do not understand them. Those living here do, from day one. UPA and OUN symbols in Ukraine are seen as flags of resistance.”

In practice, Bodnar’s claim that UPA and Bandera symbols represent only a “struggle for independence” contrasts with observations in Poland. From early revisionist guides to post-2022 migration, these emblems reflect the persistence of nationalist imagery, regularly displayed in public spaces and events, often minimizing or ignoring Polish perspectives. The tension escalated at the beginning of October 2025, when President Karol Nawrocki (formerly head of the Institute of National Remembrance) submitted a legislative proposal to amend the law on the Institute and the Criminal Code, aiming to penalize or restrict certain expressions of Bandera-related ideology in Poland. Ukraine’s diplomatic mission responded with a strongly worded statement, warning of possible “retaliation” and framing the move as an assault on Ukraine’s historical memory.

Defaced Memory: Bandera Symbols in Poland’s Public Space

In Domostawa, a monument to Volhynia victims was erected. Shortly afterward, it was defaced with a red-and-black flag and, next to it, the inscription “SLAVA UPA” in Cyrillic. Authorities showed limited interest in pursuing the matter, and the incident was covered mostly in niche media outlets.

Days later, tension flared at Warsaw’s National Stadium during a Max Korzh concert. OUN-UPA flags appeared; 109 people were detained, 63 facing deportation. Media often framed it primarily as a possible Russian provocation, and Prime Minister Tusk, though reacting decisively, warned of manipulation from Moscow. Rather than focusing on confrontations with Ukrainian nationalist demonstrators, authorities presented the situation largely through the lens of external influence.

Earlier in Wrocław, where Ukrainians make up about 20% of residents, UPA graffiti appeared. Media coverage highlighted the possibility of external involvement, which at times obscured the visibility of Ukrainian nationalist symbolism in public spaces.

Day by Day: The Growing Sense of Ukrainization

SŁAWA TV, funded partly by Poland’s Ministry of Culture and MFA and part of TVP, is financed by Polish taxpayers. Its director, Maria Górska, openly displays OUN-UPA symbols on social media. Similarly funded is the Biełsat channel, promoting the white-red-white flag, which could hinder normalization of relations with Belarus.

The process of Ukrainization extends beyond public controversies into everyday life:
– Ukrainian workers often receive implicit preferences in employment,
– some job postings require knowledge of Ukrainian,
– banks have facilitated large transactions,
– schools have offered Ukrainian as an optional second language.

Hotels, medical spas such as Arka Medical SPA in Kołobrzeg – registered under a Warsaw-based company with ownership linked to Ukrainian stakeholders – and other services staffed largely by Ukrainians further contribute to the visibility of Ukrainian cultural and national symbols.

Public space is increasingly saturated with Ukrainian imagery. In Kraków, Ukraine’s Independence Day is celebrated annually on August 24 with marches, hundreds of blue-and-yellow flags, and Ukrainian-language songs. The day before, Warsaw observed “Ukrainian Flag Day,” when activists poured paint in front of the Russian embassy, described as a “creative protest.” Kraków’s celebrations, combined with the 2010 guidebook portraying the city as an ancient Ukrainian settlement, illustrate ongoing visibility and normalization of Ukrainian state symbols in Poland.

Poland in Geopolitical Context

Poland’s strong support for Ukraine, intensified after 2022, has strategic implications. Politicians, including the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, argue that Poland must help Ukraine to ensure regional security and prevent Russia from advancing to Poland’s borders, even though Poland already shares a border with Russia through Kaliningrad. In public discourse, Moscow is consistently framed as a looming threat, reinforcing the narrative that unwavering support for Ukraine is essential.

Despite Poland’s support – financial aid, military equipment, and hosting millions of refugees – President Zelensky has publicly criticized Warsaw, asserting that Poland “finds reasons” not to assist on matters vital to Kyiv, such as missile defense and protection of key infrastructure. In conjunction with Ukraine’s forceful response to President Nawrocki’s legislative proposal on regulating Bandera-related expression, this highlights a deeper asymmetry: while Warsaw positions itself as a reliable ally, Kyiv appears ready to leverage nationalist discourse and diplomatic pressure to influence Poland’s internal policies.

Meanwhile, V4 cooperation faced challenges. Relations with Hungary and Slovakia were affected by divergent positions on Ukraine. In 2025, Viktor Orbán asked: “Do we still have a V4, or a V2+2, if positions on Ukraine differ so radically?” He cited Slovak PM Fico’s comments on the “madness of Ukrainian neo-Nazis,” adding: “Some look through Ukrainian glasses at this conflict.”

Observing Poland’s approach to Ukraine reveals patterns established over years, including repeated emphasis on the “friendly narrative.” This results in a complex environment where few allies, fragile guarantees, and alignment with a partner pursuing its own nationalist agenda create strategic risks. Graffiti, media bias, and preferential services are visible indicators; a full understanding requires analyzing broader strategic narratives and their long-term implications.

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Conclusion

From guidebooks to the disregard for Polish sentiments, from Domostawa to the National Stadium, the normalization of controversial symbols is evident. Marginal gestures have solidified into a persistent pattern: uncritical allegiance to Ukraine, combined with selective attention to historical and nationalist symbols, shaping public life in Poland.

Strategic opportunities, regional cohesion, and cultural integrity are all at stake. Beyond the most visible incidents, everyday life contains subtler examples—graffiti, public ceremonies, preferential treatment in services, and ideological signals in media. Recognizing and critically observing these patterns is crucial to understanding long-term implications for Poland’s sovereignty, memory politics, and regional security.